Everybody Wants to Plug into Power: The Politics of Decamping

As a child, whenever NEPA took light, my mother would bring out one small rechargeable lamp. It wasn’t bright, but it was dependable. We knew where it was kept. We knew who touched it. And most importantly, we knew it would not disgrace us in the middle of the night.

One day, a neighbour bought a big generator. The sound alone announced authority. When he put it on, the whole compound would shake. Children gathered. Adults nodded in admiration. Power had arrived.

But fuel is not loyalty. Once the petrol finished, darkness returned, louder than before.

Before I continue this light story - up NEPA!

As the next election approaches, Nigerian politicians have suddenly developed a deep philosophical understanding of the ruling party. Men who yesterday were prophets of opposition have today received fresh revelation. Women who once rebuked the government with fire and brimstone have now found “alignment”, “synergy”, and “national interest”.

They are decamping.

Not quietly. Not humbly. With press conferences, flags, uniforms, and choreographed defections, as if conscience now comes with photographers.

They tell us they are doing it for their people.

They tell us it is to “bring development closer”.

They tell us opposition is too noisy and governance is better done from inside the kitchen.

Meanwhile, the same people spent years insulting the cook.

Like that neighbour’s generator, the ruling party has become the loudest sound in the compound. Everybody wants to plug their phone into it. Nobody wants to remember who paid for fuel yesterday or who stole the extension cable last night.

Some politicians are not joining because they believe. They are joining because they are afraid of darkness.

They look at opinion polls the way we used to look at the fuel gauge, is it full enough to last till morning?

They look at incumbency like my neighbour’s generator: if you stay close enough, your phone will charge.

But Mama Experience has something to say.

“Better hold your small lamp well", she would warn, “because when this big generator spoils, everybody will rush back to darkness together”.

Nigerians are watching.

They remember who stood firm when power was unpopular. They remember who spoke when microphones were few. They remember who only discovered patriotism after seeing the convoy.

Decamping is not a crime. Politics is strategy. But when everyone runs to the same market stall, we begin to ask: who is selling conscience and who is buying protection?

If the ruling party is truly the best generator in the compound, let it run without borrowed wires. Let it win with conviction, not congestion.

And to the politicians changing jerseys every season: Fuel finishes. Generators spoil. But the people always wake up in the morning.

When next they vote, they will decide who brought light, and who only came to charge their phone.

Ekwensu kwanu, who off my lamp?

Y’all saw that gist about "Everybody Wants to Plug into Power," right? That whole take comparing politicians decamping to rushing to plug their devices into the neighbor's big, loud generator—it hits different. The analogy is pure premium content.

But let me drop a subtle, very painful truth bomb on that theory, because sometimes we Nigerians romanticize consistency until it starves us.

The writer of that piece is arguing from a place of moral purity: hold your small, dependable rechargeable lamp (ideology/opposition integrity). And that makes sense in a stable democracy where the opposition can actually deliver services or win meaningful elections without the ruling party’s infrastructure.

But let's be real: Is it really about conviction, or is it pure, unadulterated occupational hazard?

We need to argue this: When the ruling party (the "loud generator") actively controls every single major pipeline—federal appointments, state bailouts, security contracts, and the ability to weaponize EFCC investigations—remaining the "small, dependable lamp" is not heroism; it is institutional suicide.

If you dey form strong opposition, your road projects will be 'technically delayed.' Your local government allocations will mysteriously dry up. You will be blacklisted. And then, when elections come, the people you claim to represent will look at your wonderful, consistent ideology and ask: “Sir, your principles are sharp, but how far, where is the road?”

The political class understands this reality better than we do. Decamping, in the Nigerian context, isn't always about suddenly discovering "national interest"—we know the format!—it’s about ensuring access to the national purse so they can return home and say: "I brought development," even if that development required them to wear the uniform of their former enemy.

The system is designed to reward proximity and punish principle.

So, while the critique that decamping is driven by fear of darkness is valid, the argument should shift: It’s not just fear of darkness; it's the realistic calculation that only the loudest generator can fund the next political cycle. Consistency, in our context, often means poverty, irrelevance, and a quick trip to political retirement.

That's why our politicians have no spine, only highly sensitized radar detectors for who is currently holding the light switch.

When the writer says, "let it win with conviction, not congestion," it sounds beautiful, but who wants to be the isolated, principled party sitting in the dark when the whole compound is shaking with borrowed power?

Maybe the real problem isn't the politician who plugs in, but the generator that became so loud and so monopolistic that nobody can afford to ignore it. Until that generator is decentralized, the flow of political prostitution will never stop. It is pure strategy, baby. Stop looking for morality in a power grid controlled by a cartel.

We are just watching high-stakes Musical Chairs. And when the music stops, everybody wants to be on the side of the loudspeaker. I'm just saying—that small lamp analogy is cute, but in a Nigerian political storm, you need a diesel tank, not a prayer point. Omo, the pressure is too much. Periodt.

This move is a classic failure of tactical transition; they prioritize the half-space of immediate gratification over structural integrity. AprokoMommy, you are Cooking with this analysis; anybody who chases that loud generator power is clearly a Manchester City fan—all fuel money, zero class, and dem must Collect eventually. Trust the Process; structure is permanent.